


Words I didn't say

by SmilinStar



Category: Jane the Virgin (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 08:52:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5199746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmilinStar/pseuds/SmilinStar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I'm sorry Jane,” he says, spinning around to face her, Phillips screwdriver in one hand, and a piece of red wiring (she's pretty sure isn't really needed anyway) in the other, “It is a hundred percent dead.” Pre-series Jane x Michael ficlet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words I didn't say

**Author's Note:**

> Of course my newest ship has a total of 4 fics in existence. So here's number 5. Warning: this is totally fluffy because after 2x05 my heart needs to be put together again. Also first time writing for this fandom, so my character voices still need a whole lot of work, but I hope you enjoy it anyway :-)

**\-----**

 

**July 21 st 2012**

 

It's well over a hundred degrees and the freakin' fan in her room decides to stop working just as the summer heat wave rolls in.

 

It's sticky and uncomfortable, and it doesn't matter how many, or how often, the cold showers only bring with it a few minutes of relief. The rest of the time she's dripping with sweat, and she honestly hasn't felt this gross in forever, and it's certainly not a side of her she wants Michael to see just yet, not this soon into dating. But she supposes she's not really been given much of a choice.

 

Because speaking of her wonderful boyfriend, he's turned out to be quite handy around the house and a very dependable Mr Fix-it, so much so she thinks Abuela has finally started getting over the fact he's a cop and is slowly warming up to him. And so of course he offered to try and fix the fan problem after having to hear her moan about it all day via text.

 

Sadly though, it seems Michael has finally met his DIY nemesis, and the timing could not be any worse.

 

“I'm sorry Jane,” he says, spinning around to face her, Phillips screwdriver in one hand, and a piece of red wiring (she's pretty sure isn't really needed anyway) in the other, “It is a hundred percent dead.”

 

She clutches her hand to her chest, and lets out a sob and a completely over-dramatic, “No! It can't be!” And then to the fan: “I need you!”

 

His lips twitch, and she watches as he purses them together in an attempt to stifle the laugh, before smoothing over his expression and playing along with a solemn nod, “I know, I'm so sorry Miss. I'm going to have to call it. Time of death . . .” he peers down at his watch, “18.34.”

 

She jumps off the bed then and runs into his arms, fake sobbing into his sweat-soaked t-shirt like something out of one of her many telenovelas.

 

He rubs her back in attempt to soothe, but the laughter that spills from his lips and into her hair spoils the scene.

 

She tilts her head back to look up at him and slaps a hand to his chest, “Hey! It's not funny. I am genuinely distraught here. This heat is going to kill me, I swear.”

 

He lets out a long sigh, shoulders dropping, face taking on a more serious expression. He kisses her forehead, hands resting on her arms as he steps back, “Look, maybe you should just spend the night at mine-”

 

She can't help the way her eyes widen at his words. She knows he doesn't mean anything by it, but her mind jumps _there_ all by itself.

 

It takes a moment, but then he realises just what he's said and his own eyes widen in response as he stammers to clarify, “No. Oh god, no, no, Jane. I didn't mean it like that. I just meant, I actually have a working fan, plus large windows, decent breeze, and I'd take the couch and you can have my room-”

 

“Or,” she starts, interrupting, “I could just bunk with my Mom for the night, and call the electrician in the morning?”

 

“Or that,” he nods emphatically, “Yes that. That sounds like a good plan.”

 

“Yeah,” she shrugs, “One night, I'm sure she won't mind.”

 

“Yeah,” he breathes out, “I'm sure.”

 

And she can literally feel it, see it, the awkwardness having almost taken on a corporeal form.

 

She had had _The Talk_ with him a month and half into dating.

 

It had taken her all that time to work up the courage because she'd been terrified of the response. She liked him. _Really_ liked him. Hadn't felt this way before about anyone. Ever. And she worried, if ever there was going to be a deal-breaker, her decision to wait for marriage would be it. It had been in the past, and she didn't think she could deal with it if Michael turned around and decided, “Thanks, but no thanks.”

 

And so she had put it off and put it off until one evening she had just blurted it out. They hadn't even been in the middle of a heavy make-out session for her to segue into the “I'm a virgin” confession and put a kibosh on proceedings.

 

No, it had just come flying out of her mouth.

 

And Michael?

 

Well, he had just blinked, then blinked some more, before parting his lips and saying nothing, letting her do all the talking instead for the next half an hour.

 

And it had all come out in a rush.

 

Her decision to hold on to her virginity, why she'd made the choice, how that choice wasn't going to change, and why it was so important to her.

 

By the end of it, he still hadn't said a word and she'd sat there panicking, thinking, “This is it. It's over.” But then, _then_ he'd taken her hand, and simply said, “It's okay. It's okay Jane, I get it.”

 

“You do?”

 

“Yeah,” he'd smiled, and oh it had been the most beautiful smile, “I like you Jane. A lot. And I don't know where this is going to go, or what's going to happen a few months, years down the line, but what I do know is that for the moment, I enjoy being with you, getting to know you, and I am happy to carry on doing this.” He'd grabbed her hand then, “ _Just this_.”

 

And she'd believed his every word.

 

She's pretty sure she could have blurted out another three words at that moment, but had had enough wits about her to rein them back in, because yeesh, talk about too soon . . .

 

Which is kind of where she's at again right now.

 

Three little words hovering and they haven't even been dating three months.

 

Funny how that keeps happening.

 

It's just . . . looking at him, with his adorably red face, stammering over his words, always just trying to make sure she's happy, it's not like she can do a single thing to ward off the instinctive warmth that pools in her belly or stop the race of her heart pounding against her chest. But more importantly, it's not like she wants to.

 

Still, it's too soon.

 

Much too soon.

 

And so, she says instead, “Michael?”

 

And she can literally see him holding his breath, “Yeah?”

 

“Thank you.”

 

He smiles, relief all over his face, “You're welcome.”

 

But somehow, it doesn't seem enough, so she shakes her head, grabbing hold of both his hands in hers, and what she really wants to say is this:

 

“No, thank you for even trying to fix the stupid fan in the first place, thank you for the offer of letting me stay with you, thank you for always trying to help around the house, for always being so lovely to my Abuela and my Mom, and being so understanding and patient with me, thank you for waiting, thank you for _everything_.”

 

But it's somehow too much and not enough at the same time, and so all she says is this:

 

“No, _thank you_.” And hopes that he gets it.

 

From the smile on his face and he way he lifts her hands to his lips and kisses her skin, she thinks he does.

 

“Come on,” she says then, tugging on his hand, and pulling him towards the door, “I'm sure there's still some ice-cream left, Abuela hides the good stuff from Mom. And then maybe, after that, we can plan that camping trip . . ?”

 

His face lights up, “Really? Camping? You really want to?”

 

Honestly? Not really.

 

But for him? She'd be willing to give it a try.

 

“Sure, why not?”

 

She knows, with absolute certainty, she'll end up regretting it, but for that answering smile?

 

Totally worth it.

 

 

 

**End.**

 


End file.
